


Context Is Everything

by LaTessitrice



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, WinterShock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5723404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaTessitrice/pseuds/LaTessitrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honestly, she was disappointed Barnes hadn't turned up. She'd never exchanged two words with the Sergeant—they communicated by awkward nods and eyebrow gestures—but at least he scrubbed up well and would have been here alone too. She could have ogled him from the bar, maybe even coaxed him into crushing her feet on the dance floor. It would make a nice step up in their interactions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Context Is Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd piece in celebration of me getting old. All mistakes mine.
> 
> AU piece where people have the first words their soulmate says to them written somewhere on their bodies. I am loving me some soulmate AUs right now.
> 
> Let's all just pretend everyone is going to make it through Civil War unscathed and they're all buddies by the end, mmmkay?

 

Twenty minutes into the party, and Darcy was already regretting coming.

Jane and Thor were off tearing up the impromptu dance floor, and it seemed all the other inhabitants of the training facility had turned up with their other halves or a group of friends, leaving Darcy one of the lone singletons here. She'd mingled with the trainees, who were less likely to be paired up but more likely to huddle together with the friends they'd made, but couldn't stay amongst them long. She was, technically, their boss after all. Meanwhile, the fully paid-up members of the Avengers were either out dancing with their soul mates or lounging on the corner sofa they'd claimed as their own. And Darcy was _not_ an Avenger, so after exchanging greetings, she'd sidled away.

Truth be told, she'd only really come because it was expected of her. Tony had mandated they all needed to get together for some fun, so black tie on a Friday night it was. It certainly wasn't Darcy's idea of a good time. She'd been looking forward to a bubble bath, but Tony paid her wages so here she was.

While Sam was officially in charge of the new recruits at the Avengers' facility, Darcy was the one who did all the admin and legwork. Pepper had recruited her directly, based on Darcy's experience of handling Jane and all the funky crap that had inadvertently led to. You had to be able to roll with funky crap if you worked in proximity to the Avengers. Jane had proper scientist assistants now, but it left Darcy in a weird middle ground, where she didn't really get to know any of the recruits or the new science bods. The person she spent the most working time with was Sam, but out of hours he hung out with Cap and The Winter Shadow.

Not that Darcy would ever call Barnes that out loud.

Honestly, she was disappointed Barnes hadn't turned up. She'd never exchanged two words with the Sergeant—they communicated by awkward nods and eyebrow gestures—but at least he scrubbed up well and would have been here alone too. She could have ogled him from the bar, maybe even coaxed him into crushing her feet on the dance floor. It would make a nice step up in their interactions. As it was, Cap was draped over Sharon in the Avengers' corner, which was probably why Barnes had avoided the whole thing. Wise man.

Fuck it. She was giving the party another ten minutes, then heading back to her quarters and getting out of this awful bra. But first, she was having at least one dance.

She commandeered Sam on his way to the bar, ignoring him when he made protesting noises and gestures in the direction of Nat. "She'll understand," Darcy promised as she marched him into a spot near Jane and Thor's exuberant moves. "I'm not dancing on my own, but I need someone who can actually dance and won't try anything inappropriate. You're it." She nodded to the neat script winding its way around Sam's bicep, Nat's words marking him as spoken for. Honestly, Darcy wasn't as afraid of Nat as she should have been, but this was totally written in the Girl Code anyway. Darcy had dancing-related needs, she could borrow her soul mate for a few minutes.

Sam was an excellent choice, able to move well even to the trash Tony was playing. It was when the song segued into something softer that he backed away, and Darcy let him go. There was every chance that Nat _would_ come after her for slow-dancing with him. Her time was up, but at least now she could sneak away to get out of these heels.

She turned to leave, only to collide face-first with a wall of muscle. A breathing, cologne-scented wall, cloaked in tuxedo and a crisp shirt. She took a step backwards, and still all she could see was a broad chest and broader shoulders. Tipping her head back, she found Barnes himself staring down at her with amusement.

Had she mentioned that he scrubbed up well? Because _dammit_. His hair was loose, as always, but he'd made an attempt to comb it. It looked soft, touchable, where it lay against his neck. Stubble lined his jaw, but it was only a day's worth, just enough to draw her eye to his exquisite bone structure. She'd had entire daydreams based around mapping those contours with her fingertips.

For what it was worth, he seemed to making a valiant effort to keep his gaze on her face and not on the way her strapless dress made her chest look incredible, as she well knew. For that alone, when he cocked an eyebrow at her, she nodded in response to his unspoken question.

He wrapped one hand—one very large hand—around her waist and pulled her in close. She wanted to ask him why he was here and what the hell had tempted him out onto the dance floor, but instead she relaxed into his body heat, resting her head against his chest. They swayed together to the music, and the scent of his cologne, fresh and clean, made her head spin. This should have felt too familiar with someone she'd never really spent any time with, but when he smelled this good, when he was the one who'd sought her out…well, she was going with it.

They made a few circuits around the dance floor with Barnes leading, and she marveled at the fact that if he wasn't exactly a pro dancer, he knew how to move. At some point she stepped back to be able to look up at him, so they could move properly. He took her hand in his free one, fingers tentatively enclosing her own, and she swore she felt a frisson when they touched, goosebumps passing up her arm. If his shiver was any indication, he felt it too. His usually subdued eyes seemed to shine in the dim light, the gray glinting almost blue, and a smile tugged at his plump lips. A flirtatious smile. Darcy had no idea where this side of Barnes had surfaced from, but if this was the result of Sam's hard work, she owed him big time.

The music changed again, to something faster and terrible. A shadow passed over Barnes' face, a moment of internal disquiet, before he took Darcy by the waist again, leading her away. Away from the music, from the party, out through a darkened door in one corner. And still not a word had passed between them.

Darcy might have changed that, except as soon as Barnes had her in the private elevator, his mouth was on hers, her back against the cool metal. He was hesitant only as long as it took her to respond, to melt into the kiss, and then all of her was pressed into the wall by the weight of his body. There was no denying his intentions, not with the way he hitched her leg up against his hip. Her last rational thought was that no matter how uncomfortable her shoes, she was glad to be wearing them, because they evened out the height difference and made grinding against him possible.

When the elevator doors slid open, to the floor his quarters were on, he hitched her into his arms, and she had to wrap her legs around his hips to keep from sliding down. He groaned and slid an arm under butt to keep her secure, before striding out into the corridor like he had a mission. Which she supposed he did. The determination in his eyes, in his jaw was doing things for her, things that made it impossible for her to remain still in his arms. She tried not to distract him by dragging her tongue across that jawline. She kind of failed, but they made it anyway.

The door slammed shut behind them and he bolted it with his free hand, before spinning around to deposit Darcy on the kitchenette counter. He shrugged off the tuxedo jacket and tossed it away into the darkness. Maybe it landed on something, maybe it didn't. She was distracted by the sight of him in shirt-sleeves, the taut fabric around the muscles of his arms, the cuff links he was loosening even as she dragged him towards her. She kissed him again, unintentionally catching his lower lip between her teeth, but his grunt and gasp hinted that he liked it. She repeated the motion, and he yanked her to the very edge of the counter so he could press against her. She moaned, dragging her fingers through his hair, and felt his answering grin.

Then his hands were busy shoving the bodice of her dress down, taking her bra with it. Though his mouth didn't leave hers, his thumbs moved into action, one warm and pliable, the other cold and firm. She shivered at the contrast, then at the way he dragged his lips down her neck, across her collarbone, down to replace one thumb with wet lips and tongue. The way she was panting, nay, _heaving_ against him, couldn't have made it easy but he was tasting her skin like a starving man.

He dropped to his knees, other destinations in mind, and when he finally spoke, fumbling with the layers of her dress, his voice was low and broken by lust.

"How much chiffon does one dress need?" he muttered, and she stilled at his words. He didn't seem to notice, making a noise of victory as he successfully burrowed his way under the skirt. He made quick work of her panties, tossing them over the shoulders he was settling her thighs on, before nuzzling into her with his mouth.

Meanwhile, Darcy's head reeled. He'd just said her words. The ones on her lower back, the ones he hadn't seen yet, the ones she'd given up expecting to ever hear. Barnes, her sort-of crush, the guy who'd just dragged her away from the party for a quick fumble, the guy she'd never actually spoken to her before she let him into her panties, had used the words in her soulmark.

Well, fuck.

And she still hadn't actually said anything to him. Which was problematic, because while her head was out of the game, he was skilled enough with that pouty mouth that her body was still very much enjoying itself. Any minute now she was going to say something entirely inappropriate, something filthy would slip past her already flimsy brain-to-mouth filter, and that would be what Barnes had spent the better part of a century living with on his skin.

Poor Barnes.

Instead, she dug her teeth in her lower lip and curled her fingernails into her palm, focusing on keeping to hums and breathy noises of appreciation. Even when she spilled apart, her thighs tightening around his head like a vice, she managed to restrict herself to a wordless wail.

He didn't seemed to mind when he emerged from the sea of chiffon, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. It should have been a vaguely offensive move, but instead she tracked it with greedy eyes, reeling him back towards her by hooking a foot behind his thigh.

Her hands landed, palms first, at the bottom of his shirt, and she dragged them upwards, enjoying the play of the muscles underneath, taking the fabric with it. She repeated the motion, underneath the cloth this time, firm skin shifting beneath hers.

Taking it as a cue, he undid the buttons with one hand, allowing her to push the seams back to expose his bare chest, fingers running up the full length of his torso this time. All of it warm, smooth, except when her fingertips grazed where metal met skin. She didn't flinch, and neither did he.

Apparently deciding that was enough foreplay, he lifted her again, carrying her over to the little table in the threshold between the kitchenette and living room. Put he didn't put her down on her ass, instead spinning her so she was on facing the table. She could take a hint. She bent, bracing herself on the cool surface as he wrestled with her skirts again. There was the slide of a zip behind her, the rustle of a condom, and then he was pressing himself against her back.

When he pushed into her, she let out a breathy half-scream. When he kept moving, all of that coiled power and muscle directed from his hips, she started babbling, sense deserting her.

"So good, this isn't fair, you should've come with a warning—"

His rhythm stuttered, changed, but she was too far gone to shut her mouth. Instead, she whined as he changed the angle, his fingers fluttering over her skin as he seemed to search for something. He pushed himself upright, hips never faltering, and yanked the zipper of her dress down. She was pretty sure he ripped it in his impatience, but she also wasn't sure she cared. The callouses on his fingers trailed down her bare skin, pausing when he reached the small of her back. Oh yeah. Her words.

"I don't think it's supposed to be like this," he said, but he didn't stop moving. For that, she was thankful. She arched upwards, so they were bare skin to bare skin, her back to his chest, both flushed and slick with sweat.

"I disagree," she replied, winding her hand around his neck to pull him back down.

That seemed to settle the matter. He kept driving into her, smooth movements with all the vigor she'd fantasized about, but eliminated the scant space between them, brushing aside her hair so he could nuzzle into her neck.

"Barnes," she moaned.

"James," he corrected. "Barnes is a little formal at this stage, don't you think?"

"How about Sarge?" She giggled, and either he liked the idea of her calling him that, or giggling made her tense around him, because he swore into her skin, pushing her harder into the table. It cut off the giggle, and her nails scrabbled on the melamine, searching for purchase. He grabbed one of her hands with his flesh one, leaving the metal arm to keep him propped above her, and twined their fingers together. It was curiously intimate, and she wished she could see his face.

"Should have said something earlier," he said, each word a gasp between a thrust. "Not just dragged you from a party to maul you—"

She released his hand to reach up in the general direction of his face, to cover his mouth and stop him talking. It sounded like the cogs were turning in his head and this was not the time to get pensive. Her aim was poor, but he pressed a kiss into her palm, then pulled her upright again. His metal arm looped around her waist, the other hand burrowing between her thighs to circle and press. She leaned her head back onto his shoulder, trusting him to hold her weight. The sounds falling from her mouth weren't even words now, just nonsense. It was all sensation: the heat of him at her back, the firm press of his arm along her torso, the scrape of stubble on her neck, his fingers stroking her, and the aching fullness inside. He coaxed her through another orgasm, making soothing noises as she quaked against him, the world washed away in an ocean of intensity. Moments later, he stuttered to a stop, grunting into her ear and slumping, pinning her to the table.

She rubbed small circles on the back of his hand with her thumb, the only movement she could manage, and waited for her breathing to slow. It didn't pass her notice that although Bucky had apparently finished, he was still perfectly hard inside her, and even as a minute ticked past, that didn't seem to be changing. Still, he slipped away, mumbling an apology for crushing her, before flopping down right next to her. She took the opportunity to kick the heels off, wincing at the burn in her calves, and feeling vaguely ridiculous with the dress rolled around her waist. She tried to tug it back up to cover her chest, but whatever he'd done to the zipper made that impossible.

Meanwhile, he stripped his shirt off, sending it to join the jacket in oblivion, and discretely tucked himself away. Even doing that, he still looked delicious, chest glistening, pupils blown wide and a lazy smile gracing his face. Then he tugged her down to cuddle into his side, garnering a startled yelp from her.

"I guess context is everything," he murmured against her ear.

"Huh?"

"My words. They did my ego a lot of good, but never made much sense. It never occurred to me it was because we got straight down to business before actually talking." He was teasing, but it didn't stop her whole body flushing in mortification.

"I don't normally do this," she whispered, hoping her vague hand gesture made it clear she was referring to casual sex. She tried wriggling to extricate herself from his hold, but it was the metal arm around her, and she didn't stand a chance.

"Sleep with me? Hmm." He paused to press open-mouthed kisses to her bare shoulder. "I think we can make this a regular thing."

"Oh?" It was pretty much a whimper, because his thumbs had found her nipples again.

"Yeah," and the catch in his voice told her he wasn't as unaffected as he was feigning. "Pretty sure you're going to be a permanent fixture in my bed."

Maybe she'd have found a comeback about making assumptions, but he rolled her gently away from him, so he could ghost his fingertips over her words. They moved so low on her back that she felt the touch all the way up her spine, her toes curling at the soft motion.

"Never thought I'd actually see these," he said, his voice full of hushed reverence, and it made butterflies explode into a riot inside Darcy.

"Where are yours?" she asked, rolling back to face him. He grinned, and tapped his thigh. All that, and he was still mostly clothed. But the placement of his words seemed perfect to her—she'd always admired his thighs.

"Man, Stevie's gonna give me hell when he finds out."

"How much are you planning on telling him?"

"As little as I can get away with. I don't want him to murder me for forgetting my manners."

"I wouldn't want you getting murdered."

She tucked herself into his neck, enjoying the warmth of him. She'd never expected him to be this cuddly, but he seemed to be relishing the contact, fingers never leaving her skin.

He seemed to think for a few moments, before musing, "I hear they give bigger quarters to couples."

She huffed out a laugh. "Oh, that's what this is about? More living space?"

"No, this is about the girl I've had my eye on for months." The words were directed to her hair, which he'd buried his face in. "The girl I fell for but was too shy to speak to. The one I just discovered is my soul mate because I was too big an idiot to say anything."

He pulled back to gauge her reaction. She ducked her face to hide the blush and burgeoning grin. "I'd say things worked out all right. The universe obviously had plans for us."

"Can't argue with the universe, sweetheart. Thought I should probably try to rectify going about this all backwards. You up for dinner and dancing?"

"Always," she agreed. "But…" she chewed her lip, nodding in the direction of his groin, suddenly coy. "You don't seem to be finished."

He raised an eyebrow and gave a lazy, one-shouldered shrug. "'S the serum."

"Then we should probably do something about it."

"D'ya think we could make it to the bed this time?"

"If you can carry me—"

She was in his arms before she'd finished the suggestion. Sometime soon, they'd make it out on a date. Maybe before then they'd even have a real conversation. But right now, Darcy was perfectly happy to explore the full effects of the serum.


End file.
